


Light Me Up

by guileheroine



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/F, Friendship, Gap Filler, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/pseuds/guileheroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra learning Asami, liking Asami. Early Book 3. // Korra remembering Asami, loving Asami. Early Book 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm finding my heart using my hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May add some more later on, but this spans to about 2/3rds of b3 for now. :)

She has the nicest laugh. Korra wonders why she hasn’t noticed it before, and realizes it’s probably that Asami hasn’t had much reason to laugh in the time that she’s known her. She's laughing now, though, with her, _for_ her, and even as it takes her a little off-guard Korra wishes she could stop to watch.

 

-

 

Asami asks her about Mako again, not prying, but once they start it’s easy to unpack this weird, kind of shared ordeal together. Not exactly fun, but more than a bit refreshing. Korra tells her about fighting fire with fire until the good kind of spark is long lost in the inferno. Fever, not warmth. Asami says it’s like being tried on for size: she can abide it a first time, but why a second when you already know you don’t prefer it, it’s not what you really want.

 

“Well, that’s not totally fair actually,” she amends, “I’m the one who kissed him. That was stupid. After you guys broke up... well, he wasn’t in the best way at that time. Emotionally.”

 

She sounds like she’s about to apologize again, so Korra says, “Neither were you.”

 

Anyway, it’s over now - it’s not like Asami had a real hand in the implosion that was her passionate first romance; she and Mako took good care of that themselves. They’d been stoking the flames  long before Korra recognised it as a funeral pyre. And now they had to rework something viable from the embers.

 

“At least he’s not half as awkward around just you.”

 

Asami supplies, “He cares about me, I know he does.  But it’s not me he favoured." 

 

Korra thinks it’s more than that, though, because it’s easier than most things to be around Asami, and it would be for anyone. That’s just who she is. She forgives, and consoles, and conciliates. And thank goodness, because if she wasn’t, Korra might have blown the chance of _this_ a long time ago.

 

-

 

The nights are her favourite part of the day lately, and not just because airbender-hunting is going a little worse than she’d envisaged. There’s an electric kettle in Asami’s cabin and Korra, in her pyjamas, skips over for tea after they’ve all said their goodnights.

 

She watches Asami take her makeup off for the first time. She’s seen her with and without it before, but never in the transition. “Can I ask why you wear it?”

 

Asami, thoughtful. “Uh… I like how it looks on me. It’s my ‘look’, you know?” A last swipe of her eyelid in front of the tiny vanity mirror, next to the tiny wardrobe. (Korra’s on the tiny bed.) “And it’s a hobby, I guess. The colours and combinations, playing with it, it’s like drawing, actually - have a look at -”

 

She drops the cotton pad in her hand and turns to gesture at the notepad on the bedside table. Korra recognizes it as the one where she keeps her sketches. At a nod from Asami, she takes it and begins to leaf through.

 

There’s a hundred things in here - half-formed drawings of engines, sections of vehicle, sketches part-machinery and part-numbers, more than a few things she doesn’t recognize, and portraits, too. Eyes and mouths, often with splashes of makeup in colour. Beautiful faces; beautiful boys and beautiful girls. Well. You have to know how to draw if you’re going to be a engineer.

 

“They’re nice,” she remembers to say, tracing cheeks and collarbones with her eyes. It feels like she’s looking at something private, but not in a strange way. More like Asami decided to share, so she’s accepting.

 

Asami sits across from her on the bed, smiling, a hand brushing through her hair. “You need a break from blueprints once in a while, you know?”

 

They sit in silence for a minute. Korra looks from the profile of a roughly-sketched, silver-eyed woman in her lap up to Asami’s in front of her, thinking that if she ever indulged in a self-portrait, it could be the prettiest one of all.

 

She makes Asami tell her about colour theory, just for fun. So between swatches of eyeshadow on their wrists, Asami explains what works best on which skin tone, which eye colour, why you shouldn’t mix that shade of powder with that lipstick, and so on until the contents of her makeup bag are spread between their laps.

 

“Well, how come you’re always wearing the dark red lipstick with purple eyeshadow?  Isn’t that supposed to clash?”

 

The sweetest laugh. Unperturbed. “Yeah, well. Sometimes you just gotta do whatever feels right!”

 

And on that indulgent note, they return to the notepad. Korra leans up on her elbows on the bed. “Draw… draw, like, the most attractive boy you can imagine.” Why the hell not? It’s so late and the day has been so ungiving. Asami sketches and Korra watches, a suggestion here and there through shared knowing looks and sniggers. It feels good to feel so intent on something as silly.

 

In any case, Imaginary Boyfriend is a sight and a half, Korra admits. Their tastes do match. (Hah.)  “Now if _this_ guy were real, it might be worth fighting over,” Asami snorts, nudging her, eyes sparkling as if she’s been waiting a while to make that terrible joke. Korra returns her red-cheeked laughter, grabbing the notebook in mock-possessiveness and Asami giggles harder than she’s ever seen her, and it’s the loveliest she has ever seen her.

 

“Well, you can take him back to your room,” she snickers, tearing the sheet out of the notepad, but Korra would rather stay here.

 

-

 

It’s not always so playful.

 

Asami’s crying one night. She doesn’t mean to, she’s embarrassed, it’s nothing. But Korra walked into her room and she can’t walk out again without saying _something_.

 

It’s the anniversary of her mother’s death, but it’s not even that.

 

It’s the first since her death that she’s without her father.

 

Asami says it’s so sick that the thought of her dead mother is easier, simpler than that of her father in prison. Her mother is an uncomplicated grief, a sorrow straightforward and set solid a long time ago, but the fresh treachery of her father ties knots in her mind.

 

“How could I never know?” Like the mistake was hers, not his. And then, worse, the what-ifs:

 

“If my mom was here, my dad would be here, you know? He wouldn’t have done that if weren’t for her.”

 

She talks like they’re on the same side somehow, and in a way they are: they’ve left her. The newer wound cutting the old one fresh. When Korra can practically see the stifling, festering weight of both twisting in her throat again, she takes her hands.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” she says for something to say, feeling as though her own tears might come easier. Fingers press into Asami’s palms. She’s never actually seen Asami cry before.

 

Asami meets her eyes immediately, kind. “Oh, Korra. It’s okay,” but Korra thinks that she shouldn’t be the one reassuring for once.

 

She realizes for the first time how forlorn Asami must feel. And it’s so unfair that Asami is alone because Korra knows it doesn’t suit her; she knows by the way those kind eyes are streaming again and the way Asami’s clutching at her hands.

 

“Hey, if you want, we can stay up tonight.” She has a feeling Asami won’t sleep, and she doesn’t want to leave her alone.

 

Asami looks at her like Korra’s giving her something precious.

 

-

 

Korra had drawn to Mako as a moth to flame; he had attracted her like he was the sun on the city skyline, the very embodiment of the excitement and potential of her new world.

 

But Mako didn’t love the city. It had burned him, and he burned her and they burned each other. The light was a little too hot and bright to look in the eye as often as she would have liked.

 

She never considered it before, but there’s something of a similar spark in Asami. Calmer and softer though, enough for her to have missed it on the first glance. Warmth, not fever.

 

There’s a sprawling map of Republic City in Asami’s heart. It guides her through conferences about charity sponsorship and local development and conversations about fine dining as often as it guides her through the streets. Asami’s not a flame, not the sun illuminating the metropolis. She’s the city lights themselves, the city’s light. More muted, but constant, twinkling, infinitely closer. Easier to look in the eye.

 

-

 

 “ _If you could play any of the three pro-bending positions, which would it be?_ ” It’s a question Asami’s probably heard before, but hey, never from the Avatar, and never with the tools at hand to determine the true, fated answer, she bets.

 

Korra’s holding an old, rather fangirly pro-bending magazine, found between the newer, thicker fashion and technology monthlies piled in the corner of Asami’s cabin. It’s a little… juvenile, but Asami says the more grown-up ones were never any fun. Anyway, it’s the _Future Industries Fire Ferrets exclusive special edition!_ so she has to keep it.

 

They’re at the ship’s helm, Asami steering through a very long and boring stretch of Earth Kingdom airspace, Korra perched nearby for company. It’s late, but the desert winds are particularly high tonight, so Asami wants to be on watch at the cockpit just in case.

 

“Question one. Which of the following colour combinations do you wear best?” Korra swings her legs, holding the page down on her lap with one hand to take a sip of tea from the mug in the other. “One, green and brown; two, red and black; or three, blue and white?”

 

Asami raises an eyebrow. “I’m digging deep, huh?”

 

“So is that earth?” Korra feigns earnestness. It catches Asami off-guard enough to make her laugh, though it’s not the least bit funny.

 

“Fine, red and black!”

 

“Okay, two,” Korra continues, peering down into her lap. “Which would you rather have as a pet: a fire ferret, a singing groundhog, or an otter penguin?”

 

Asami seems to like this one better. “Are singing groundhogs good for anything other than singing?”

 

“Uh, I have no idea. You can ride otter penguins though - go penguin sledding.”

 

“I have to say fire ferret out of my loyalty to Pabu,” she says solemnly.

 

Korra shrugs, ticking it off, and continues reading. “Three. Oh.” A pause. “I guess they really wanted to milk the special feature.” Asami looks towards her in mild curiosity. “Alright, three,” Korra repeats, trying to keep the smirk off her face. “Which member of the Fire Ferrets would you rather date? Mako, Bo-”

 

Asami’s already leant back in her seat, biting her lip to keep her own grin off her face. She looks like she’s about to interrupt, and Korra lifts a finger to stop her so she can finish.

 

“Mako, Bolin or,” Korra repeats, giggling, “Avatar Korra, and it says, ‘a male version if you want.’ Gosh, who writes this stuff?”

 

Asami must not have expected that because she breaks into another peal of laughter. “Well, I guess I answered that one months ago, didn’t I?” She says eventually, an air of coyness about her.

 

“No, I’m not letting you say Mako!” Korra interjects, laughing again. _What’s your answer now?_ “You’ve only given fire answers and we both know you’re not a fire girl.”

 

“Fine,” Asami concedes, easy. “I pick Avatar Korra, since I chose Pabu for the last one and that’s basically a mark in Bolin’s favour.”

 

“I’ll take it!” And she does, the meaningless remark lodges in her brain.

 

Asami ties fire and water in the end, what a waste that was (as if they could’ve expected something valid out of it.) So Korra takes it upon herself to provide the concrete answer. “No, I definitely think you’d be a natural waterbender.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

Korra leans forward, thoughtful. “Well, you adjust. You roll with the punches.” _Go with the flow_ , she was about to say.

 

Asami keeps her gaze, expectant, so Korra elaborates. “Waterbending is supposed to be about flexibility, not force or direct offense. You know how they say water is the element of change? I think you deal good with change. You _don’t_ take an offensive stance, you take things in stride - like, think around it or think forward.”

 

She’s remembering Asami’s demeanor at the prospect of a hundred spirit vines swarming their city; and Asami’s demeanor in the face of one heartbreak after another, in the face of her home and family fracturing apart in an evening.

 

-

 

Earth is not an element of change.

 

The Earth Queen won’t budge and Ba Sing Se is wearing on her. The sooner they can find the airbenders and leave the better, but they have no leads right now, and Mako and Bolin are who knows where.

 

“Let’s walk,” Korra says to Asami, because the morning heat is sweltering and they need something to do.

 

They make their way through the carved bridges and greenery of the Upper Ring into the Middle and find a small but modern-looking teashop selling fruit coolers. Asami pays for two fresh mango and papaya smoothies and they sit in the shade of the awning outside with them, watching the passers-by.

 

“I came here on vacation with my parents once when I was a kid and nearly got lost,” Asami says, and Korra perks up, because Asami rarely talks about her childhood. “I think I preferred the visit to Gaoling - that was just me and my dad, though.”

 

Korra doesn’t have any similar assessments to offer. This is the first big city she has been to outside of Republic City, and she tells Asami as much.

 

Asami laughs. “I don’t know if I can say I know much better than you, to be honest,” she presses her glass against her cheek to feel its coolness (an oddly endearing gesture), “I went on trips with my dad once in a while but I don’t know that I saw much. I was pretty cooped up. Could have done with a bit more of the real world.”

 

There’s a trace of bitterness in her voice, like she regrets not coming out a little better primed for her present existence, or a little more wary of the world at large. It’s something Korra can empathize with.

  
The frustrating intersection of inexperience and duty, _that’s_ what they had in common - all eyes on you, always, _figure out that cosmic environmental crisis, figure out this disintegrating multi-million yuan empire_ , when nobody had left them the tools.

 

Asami’s good at navigating, though. She stops and thinks and learns from her mistakes, and one day she’s going to be as wise as she is smart. And Korra’s better than she was six months ago, too. It’s comforting to measure herself against Asami and know there’s another girl as young having to make the world grow.

 

She wonders if they could grow together.

 

“The one place I’ve been that you have to see, though,” Asami is saying, “is the bazaar at the volcano towns in the Fire Nation at the end of summer. They have Komodo sausage barbecues the size of this sidewalk and firedancers going _all night_ without stopping.”

 

 _I’d like to go with you_ , Korra thinks.

 

 -

 

 “So what do you actually think? What sort of bender would you want to be, if you were one?”

 

They’re en route to Zaofu from the Northern Air Temple, and the buzzing, tentative excitement of the airbenders they’ve left behind has worn off on Korra. She tries to recall how it felt to discover a new element for the first time.

 

Asami makes a face, like it’s an awkward question to ponder. “Well, I _can’t_ know what I’d like, ‘cause I have no idea how bending anything would even feel.”

 

“But it must have crossed your mind? Like, when you were a kid?”

 

She makes a hesitant sound. “I guess… like, the novelty of bending. Like, ‘wouldn’t it be nice if I could bend the water out of my hair?’ But it’s not for me to ruminate on it.” She tries another angle. “Can _you_ imagine thinking seriously on what you’d do if you were born a non-bender? Or could you imagine Tenzin sitting down to decide what he’d bend if he didn’t bend air?”

 

Korra considers it. “Well, no, because it wouldn't have to occur to me - Tenzin wouldn’t be Tenzin if he wasn’t an airbender.”

 

“Exactly!” Asami says. “It’s like not having an element _is_ my element. I wouldn’t be me without it, so it doesn’t make sense to conceive a me without it. That would be a different person, making the exercise pointless.”

 

Korra thinks she gets it now. The trick is in not thinking of not bending as an absence of. And it’s true: an Asami that could bend wouldn’t be their Asami and then some, she would be a different Asami altogether.

 

It’s not the easiest thing to wrap your head around - that a lack of bending could be as integral as bending itself. A bender Asami would have her parents, probably, but she wouldn’t have her algorithmic mind and quiet diligence and constant electric heart.

 

 -

 

 _She’s never had a girlfriend._ Not a sentiment that she’d expected to be mutual, but Asami confesses one day that no, she’s never really fallen in with other girls her age either.

 

“I mean, I had friends when I was younger and we hung out, but not… in the last few years. They were kids of family friends is why, probably.” Asami sits down on the grass, panting. They’ve been sparring, but it’s hard to talk and hear over kicks and punches, so a break for conversation feels natural.

 

Speaking so consciously of capital-F friendship is hardly natural, but Opal, with a book in the corner of the courtyard, has just been telling them about how she hopes it’s not hard to make airbender friends soon.

 

“And I never even had friends until I left the South Pole - you’ll be fine,” Korra says, Asami adding, “Don’t let Naga hear you say that,” with a twinkle in her eye.

 

“All you really have to do is be nice, Opal, and you’re already the sweetest,” Asami addresses Opal now, fond, reassuring. She’s so lovely.

 

Korra snickers. “Well, Asami was nice to me when we met and I kissed her boyfriend.”

 

“And that’s why you should never take Korra’s advice,” declares Asami as Opal giggles.

 

“You’re serious?! You guys worked it out, though?”

 

Asami replies warmly, meeting Korra’s eyes rather than Opal’s. “I always thought Korra was great! We were friends despite it, now more than ever,” and she actually takes Korra by the arm. It’s _so_ Asami. Korra smiles back and Opal smiles between them.

 

“I have to keep her around because all of the other girls I know besides you are under fourteen,” she tells Opal. By which she means, _Asami’s the best!_

When Korra had told Asami that she hadn’t ever had a proper female friend before, it had been a careless, forward sentiment: she’d like to know, she’s heard it’s nice! Would Asami like to be her girlfriend? All the girls seem to have one, if not several. It’s the standard experience.

 

She’s less and less sure that she does know what that would be like, though, because Asami doesn’t feel like a standard friend. Korra can feel it even without knowing what that ‘normal friendship’ she’d imagined would feel like. Whatever the usual experience was, it wasn’t this, because no other girl had Asami.

 

-

 

Opal’s farewell dinner is only a few days after her birthday party, but her birthday is the real event.

 

They’re in green Zaofu dresses (Su has a boutique’s worth) and Asami’s doing her eyeliner. _Eyes, not mouth,_ she had explained in a tone only tinged with bashfulness, _because yours are already so big and pretty._ Korra’s trying to remain statue-still, eyes trained on the painting by Huan behind Asami’s shoulder.

 

Asami caps the eyeliner and takes Korra by the shoulders. She blinks, looking squarely into her eyes as if in a mirror. The green of her dress makes the green of her eyes glimmer, and Korra recognises the flutter in her stomach for what it is for the first time.

 

“Almost -” Asami says, and Korra exhales. She licks the tip of her finger and draws it over the corner of Korra’s eyelid, fixing some faulty element of the makeup. “There.”

 

Asami holds a mirror up to her face and Korra steadies it to look, hand over hers. “I haven’t done somebody else’s makeup in - well, ever - but you look nice.”

 

“It’s terrible,” Korra deadpans, then grins, and Asami laughs sweet.

 

“Well, I’m not perfect,” she says, but she is.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://lauraknatt.tumblr.com/post/128462775078/fanfic-friday-40-light-me-up-by-guileheroine) is a **super cute** illustration of the smoothie scene in this chapter done by [lauraknatt](http://lauraknatt.tumblr.com). ♥


	2. you're my feet on the ground, my footprints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second part spans the time of Korra's recovery (early b4.)

She has the sweetest laugh. Korra can’t hear it (save for in her mind) but she can see it in front of her, staring not quite her way in black and white.

 

 _Republic City Times._ Front page. Future Industries on the front page; something about the end of an important project, the next part of a contract with Raiko’s office commencing. Korra hasn’t read the feature yet - she isn’t seeing Katara until the evening today and she has a long afternoon to kill, so why not take it slow? Her mother had handed her the copy just a few minutes ago. (It’s not rare to see international newspapers in Harbor City, they come off boats and airships with their readers, and there are council members in this very palace that like to have them delivered specially.)

 

Asami is smiling with a strapping but polite-looking man holding a clipboard beside her (a reporter, Korra assumes), snapped mid-conversation. The photo Korra’s looking at isn’t even _of_ Asami, really - she wouldn’t be laughing that way for a camera. She’s been caught in the background of a  shot of some councillor and a few other professional-looking folk adorned in plaster smiles, probably benefactors of whatever the successful project was.

 

Korra’s eyes are on the tiny Asami behind them, though.

 

This is the first she’s seen of her in months, not counting the photo she keeps in her bedside drawer of herself with Asami, Mako, Bolin and Suyin’s family, taken in Zaofu on the night of Opal’s farewell dinner. (They’re all smiling around Opal in that one, flared out from the centrepoint of her in her dinner seat. It’s bright and close and loving, but Korra’s favourite part of the photograph is Asami’s arm around flung around her shoulders, the other looped through Bolin’s arm.)

 

The Asami in front of her looks very different. She looks _business_ \- pencil dress and opaque tights and hair swept back in a way Korra’s never seen it before. The cultivated sleekness of Asami’s appearance and the counterpoint of her easy, warm smile make something equally warm coil in Korra’s stomach. (And not the _comfort_ warmth she’s long learnt to associate with Asami; a _heat_ kind of warmth, too.)

 

“Look who’s in the paper, honey!” Her mom had called before tossing the newspaper to her. “More stunning by the day, no? Not that you aren’t twice as lovely.” She had added very unnecessarily through a bite of the kale cookie she was having with her morning tea.

 

Her mom had been referring to the portrait of Asami with Raiko below the headline. It’s larger and in colour, clear enough that you can see the shade of her eyes. She’s poised serious and beautiful (with Raiko looking like he doesn’t even deserve to be in the same picture, Korra thinks.) But Korra prefers this little black and white Asami in front of her right now, natural and laughing.

 

She lets her fingers linger on the photo for a second before they move carefully to tear it out.

 

-

 

She’s building quite the collection of letters.

 

At first she had kept a stack in chronological order, but now there are enough that it’s gotten difficult to sort through them when she needs one for reference - when she’s wondering where Bolin had said he was travelling, whether Asami’s on tour in the Earth Kingdom right now or at home, which case is it exactly that Mako’s working and is it dangerous?

 

So they’re in individual piles now, by sender, racing each other to the ceiling of the drawer.

 

Mako, 9 (he was never a man of many words and he wrote mostly on practical things, on his job); Tenzin, 11 (well, Tenzin and Jinora and Ikki and Meelo - they all put in their bit, three or four different scrawls in the same letter sometimes); Bolin, 13, illustrated (he’d had a lot of free time before joining Kuvira’s peace efforts.)

 

Asami, 17.

 

_Ding, ding, ding._

 

Her letters aren’t always as long as the others’, but Asami puts the emphasis on frequency and not length. _Hey, again! Got a busy day today but I’m sitting here waiting for lunch to arrive so I thought I’d write._ Quality, not quantity. _The Buzzard Wasps are holding tryouts for a new ‘supreme waterbender’ in time for the tournament - saw the poster up this morning and it reminded me of you._ Casual and conversational. _I nearly reversed over a spirit vine today. Still wanna learn to drive?_   Caring. _I hope more than anything that you’re feeling better._

 

Candid. _I miss you._

 

In a way, Asami’s letters are her least favourite to receive because for once the decision not to respond isn’t easy. She pauses at the end of each one and worries the pen, gut twisted in something fast approaching longing.

 

-

 

_It’s not the same in Republic City without you._

 

Korra can’t imagine a Republic City without Asami because she’s never known one. But Asami had lived eighteen years in her shining city before Korra had ever laid eyes on it, eighteen years to know it and love it without her in it. Had the nineteenth really made such a difference? The thought tugs sharp and sweet at Korra’s heart.

 

They had flirted with a similar question once.

 

_“Do you ever think about what it’d be like if you’d never moved away from the South Pole?”_

_Korra glances up at Asami from her plate, unsure if she’s heard her right over the racket of Varrick and the Beifong twins on her other side. Dinner at Zaofu is always an event.  “Huh? Like if Tenzin had agreed to teach me airbending there?”_

_A nod through a sip of kale smoothie._

_It’s a monster of a question and Korra isn’t sure what Asami’s angle is. “Well, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop Amon, if that’s what you’re asking. At least Unalaq actually decided to come seek me out. What else? No way the Fire Ferrets would have made it that far in the championship,” she says, smirking. “Tenzin’s blood pressure might be lower. You might still have a boyfriend.”_

_Asami points a fork at her, nodding seriously. “Definitely the most important difference.”_

_Korra laughs and points Asami’s fork back to her plate by the wrist, but she isn’t in the mood to play along. “Do you think you and Mako would still be together if I never showed up?”_

_“Nah,” Asami replies slowly, stabbing at her tofu wrap. “I don’t think Mako and I were really meant to be.”_

_“That’s a relief,” Korra says, and doesn’t know why she does._

_It’s Asami’s turn to laugh. “What do you mean?”_

_She considers. “What you said. I don’t know if you’re the best person for each other. To be honest, you probably deserve a little better - well, a little different is a better way to put it.”_ You deserve the best _is what she means to say._

_“Who knows? Maybe in this alternate universe I’m with the love of my life and I don’t even meet him.” Asami shrugs and pops a crab puff into her mouth. “You’re the one who changed all our lives, really. What would your biggest difference be?”_

_“Like, personally? My world would be a_ lot _smaller - you know I hadn’t even seen a Satomobile newer than five years until I got to the city? But the weirdest thing - well, I can’t even imagine not meeting you and the guys.”_

_Asami smiles. “Well, there was still a point where I think you’d rather not have met me.”_

_“And isn’t_ that _weird? We could have never become friends.” The sentiment slips out in a tone of wonderment. “I could be missing out on the nicest girl in Republic City. You might never have come to stay on Air Temple Island. I might not have learnt to drive without you.”_

_“You_ don’t _know how to drive, Korra,” is what Asami chooses to say, though her cheeks are bright red. “But I am glad you came, and glad you gave me a chance.”_

 

Nearly two years after she did make for Republic City, Korra is back at the South Pole, feeling all too often like it wouldn’t have made a difference if she hadn’t left in the first place.

_The world doesn’t need you anymore,_ echoing deadly and dark in her dreams, words the same each time even as the voice changes from one adversary to the next. And there’s nothing to say those words are wrong, that the world hasn’t forgotten her and forgotten to wait for her. There are enough ‘I love you’s and ‘get well soon’s but no voice to tell her that the absence slows them down for a moment, gives them any kind of pause.

 

Except one. _It’s not the same without you._

 

Slipped one way or another, in every single letter, as if she could miss her enough for the whole heartless world.

 

-

 

_“Take a deep breath.”_

_Korra complies, her weight painful on her hands as she steadies herself into a sitting position on the bed. Asami half-wheels and half-pushes the chair Korra has just vacated against the wall, like she can’t do it quick enough, before sliding onto the bed opposite her, legs tucked under herself, and taking her lightly by the shoulders._

_“Okay?”_

_Korra nods, eyelids pressed tight for a moment. Then she slackens, eyes fluttering open and tension dissipating from her body on an exhale, leaving only a blunt headache in the wake. Asami seems to loosen with her. The hands on her shoulders slide softly, slightly upwards before one moves to push a sweat-slicked tendril of hair from her forehead._

_A minute of her time and a mountain of her energy to climb onto a bed. If she had any energy left, she might have been embarrassed._

_Korra glances upward through the space between Asami’s fingers, and Asami draws back when she finds her gaze. It’s hard to read her expression in the dim light filtering through the half-open blinds. Asami releases her and turns to kick off her shoes and remove her jacket._

_“You want a bite to eat? Or something to drink?” Korra shakes her head, even though she knows that Asami already knows the answer. She lies back onto the bed slowly, staring straight up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Asami remains perched on the corner of the bed, jacket clutched in her hand. They stay that way for a minute; each in her own head, though they’re thinking nothing._

_Eventually: “are you going to sleep, Korra?”_

_Which is code for_ Can you sleep? Do you think you’re going to be able to sleep tonight? _And,_ Should I go?

_Korra shakes her head again._

_“Do you want to talk?” Asami says through a yawn. She doesn’t sound like she could hold a conversation. Korra thinks about reaching forward and putting her hand in hers, just to pull her forward a bit, let her know that she can rest, too, but the jacket’s still occupying Asami’s hand._

_“Not really.”_

_“Well, you tell me if there’s anything…” And she doesn’t need to finish the sentence because Korra’s heard it a hundred times. Asami yawns again and finally moves to put her jacket on the table and her shoes under it. She comes back and stretches across the bottom of the bed, carefully folding Korra’s legs out of the way first._

_Korra listens quietly to the shift in the sheets. She can feel Asami’s presence without touching her and it’s a small and strange solace. The ache across her brow seeps a little deeper into her skull and she coughs. Asami’s hand ghosts across her ankles - whether in response or not, Korra can’t tell, but it feels like it is. A silent acknowledgement in touch for Korra’s every action, such that she wouldn’t have to make a response if she didn’t have one, but she would know that Asami was aware._

_Korra’s temples throb. She sweeps her hair into one fist and combs and gently tugs for the relief, but there’s a cramp in her knuckles within seconds._

_“Asami.” The grasp on her legs tenses; silent, immediate response. “My head,” is all she has to say._

_Asami replies with her hands._

When Korra hadn’t had the voice to ask for a comfort she couldn’t articulate anyway, nor the strength to receive another well-meaning and ill-serving platitude, Asami had eased her with touch. A hand in her hand, her forehead tucked into a warm shoulder, palms splayed against an aching back. The wordless reassurance that she was so good at.

 

Maybe that’s what they’re lacking now? Korra doesn’t have the words to relay that she _has_ no words for what she might want to say. It’s hard to describe her particular pain, when Asami can’t simply see her and _know_. She would know the answer to every one of her questions if she could just see her, Korra thinks. She could read her mind in a touch.

 

But Asami is an ocean and a continent away and Korra isn’t good with words.

 

The absence of that grounding contact is felt as keenly as the twinge in her limbs sometimes. Asami looms in her heart as if to make up for it, larger and larger, creeping quieter and deeper than Mako had once been.

 

Korra sees the swish of dark hair in the half-light and for the briefest of seconds she mistakes it for hers. She spots a pale, pretty figure in the Harbour City market and its coat is her purple. A glimmer of sweet laughter and for a moment its hers.

 

-

 

Tenzin comes and leaves her more letters. Asami has written Korra her longest yet. There’s more than a touch of finality - what Korra’s been anticipating, what Korra’s been dreading.

_You probably have your reasons, I respect and trust that you do, but I don’t know if I can keep writing you so often. I’m running out of things to say, Korra. I don’t know what the right question to ask is when the last one hasn’t been answered. It doesn’t mean you’re on my mind any less, but I don’t wanna keep repeating myself, you know? You probably don’t need to see me write that I miss you one more time. But I do, and if ever or whenever you’re ready I’ll be grateful to have you back. I just need to be focused on other things right now._

 

Frank. Letting her know where they stood, not hurt or upset, only understanding. Little hearts in the margin between the mechanical doodles, no hard feelings.

 

Somehow Asami still understands.

 

-

 

She writes _Dear Asami_ for the hundredth time that night and makes it to _love, Korra_ for the first.

 

She presses the envelope to her mouth before sending it away.

 

She has half a mind to follow it.

 

 _Mom, Dad._ “There’s something I need to tell you...”

 

-

 

Korra doesn’t take much when she leaves on the boat for Republic City, and even less when she leaves Republic City behind her and continues on foot. But she has a little roll of letters.

 

She reads Asami’s the most, sitting battered on a cheap Earth Kingdom motel bed, or some outcrop in an endless white flatland, no other creature within miles. Well, she’s really only brought Asami’s; her pack has to be small. Not her last letter, but a few of the middle ones, the ‘normal’ ones, where she’s rambling on about work and food and art and especially _it’s not the same without you_. The ones where Korra can trace the drawings in the margin and pretend Asami’s there talking to her.

 

_“Do you think you’d feel the same about benders if your dad hadn’t kept his thoughts about them so secret?” Korra hopes it’s not too risky a question, especially when Asami’s just been beaten by her, a bit of unpremeditated, accidental airbending catching her off-guard. (She lays a hand on her arm in apology as they sit down; it hurts to hurt Asami.)_

_The look on Asami’s face tells her it probably is. She braves it, though. Korra can see the cogs in head working the question out as she pulls off her sparring gloves. “It’s difficult to say…”_

_Korra mirrors her. “Sorry if that’s a weird thing to ask.”_

_“No, no,” Asami replies, obviously in thought and not meeting her eyes. “It’s just - I wanna say ‘no’, you know? That I wouldn’t have a problem with benders even if my dad had been open about his views.” She hesitates. “But it’s not like I didn’t also lose my mom.” She laughs surprisingly ruefully before continuing and Korra looks up. “And it’s definitely not like I’m not impressionable, that I wouldn’t be receptive to what he told me. Actually, he could probably have had me believe whatever he wanted, whether it was true or not - I mean, he did.”_

_Korra doesn’t know what to say. The ensuing silence is almost long enough to make her regret asking, but then Asami speaks again, softly. “Why do you ask?”_

_She takes a breath. “It’s kind of what you just said, actually. I know that you could be - could have been, given your family - against benders, as in you’d have reason to be. And against someone like me, like the idea of the Avatar.” She meets Asami’s eyes to make sure she’s following. “I just - I can’t imagine you not the way you are, I guess. Like, I know that it would make sense for you to oppose benders more than you happen to, but I feel like you as a person, are too nice.”_

_Asami nods slowly. “So you’re wondering what it would be like if I did harbour any anti-bending sentiments?” She looks less upset and more intrigued, like she’s about to explain some kind of science to her. “Well, I can’t fight as good as you or Mako or Bolin or most benders, and that’s with_ a lot _of training. I know that if my dad wasn’t who he was it might be really hard for me to get work that I’m perfectly capable of doing, or convince people that I can do it good. I get jealous of how quick you can do things, of course I do.” She pauses. “What I’m trying to say is - it’s not like I’m automatically perfect and I don’t have to think about any of those negative feelings, you know? It’s about dealing with those feelings in the right way once you have them.” She searches for the right words. “So I would hope that no matter what I felt or what I was told, I would be able to look at it and deal with it the right way when the time came. It’s like -”_

_She takes Korra’s hands across the grass, pushing two pairs of gloves away. “Like how you were a lot less aware of non-benders and a lot less sympathetic about it when you first came to Republic City. But all it took was a bit of knowledge and reflection to be kinder about it. Because you’re a good person, and that comes before whatever perspective you happened to have started with.”_

_“I think_ your _goodness would mean you’d be understanding no matter how you were raised,” Korra says._

_“Exactly, that’s what I would hope! And I think we have to rely on that, because everyone’s never going to start, uh, equal.” She removes one of her hands from Korra’s so she can tighten her ponytail. “On a purely physical level: if you wanted, you could hurt me, you simply have more power and it can’t be helped. But you never would - that’s_ your _personal goodness - and I know you wouldn’t - that’s my personal trust - so it’s all right. You appreciate me for my own strengths even if they’re different to yours, and I admire you and love you for yours -” Korra’s heart skips a beat even though she knows exactly what Asami means “- even if they give you certain advantages. Our personal perspectives make it equal.”_

_Korra smiles slowly. “That’s a nice way to look at it. So people are good or nice no matter what, if that’s who they are?”_

_“I think so,” Asami affirms. “It’s just about how easy it is to reach that place in a particular situation. You can get hurt or get mad, but it’s just not where you’ll finish if that’s not who you are.” She perks up. “Like you. You’ve had to deal with a lot of_ shit _,” she giggles at her own transgression and somehow it makes Korra suddenly aware of the warmth of her left hand still in hers, “but strong is what you are before anything, so you just - you always win. In the end.”_

It’s an idea that Korra’s revisited more than once in the last two years. She’s not sure if it’s the sentiment itself that’s heartening, or the fact that it’s coming from Asami.

 

There’s a quiet conviction in the way she talks, the way she writes in her letters, that Korra doesn’t think she has ever felt before.

 

-

 

_Your problem is you've been disconnected for too long, disconnected from the people who love you and disconnected from yourself._

 

It takes Korra too long to realize that no matter how hard she treasures the memory of her, it will have no effect on the real Asami. She may as well have left the very thought of her on the Republic City docks, for all that Asami knows, for all that it serves her.

 

And there’s no greater shame, because if it was hard to understand exactly what she felt about Asami three years ago, or six months ago, it isn’t now. The testimony of time has shown her - an expected constancy on Asami’s part and an unexpected yearning on hers, and now _she knows_ it’s as easy as breathing to turn to Asami, to trust in Asami, take the thought of Asami to corners of continents with her, to bed with her.

 

Nothing new: just the cognizance, the conscious reiteration of a reality long-lived in every confession, fear, comfort, laugh or touch she has shared with her.

 

But there’s so much more that Korra wants to share. So it’s time to go home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the story title after adding this chapter so that it goes with the chapter titles (they're from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6UKPS2hdVI) .)


	3. coda: if you're lost where shadows fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they had to reunite.

So there’s Asami; all of her, all at once, all of a sudden.

 

Korra pushes her voice past the pattering pulse in her throat. _I hope you haven’t been waiting long ._

 

There’s a reply but she loses Asami’s words in the roll of her voice. Her eyes are fever bright, and Korra can’t tear her own away. Not until she absolutely must; and the magnetic lock of Asami’s gaze is exchanged for her arms, her shoulders. It’s very slow for something that happens so fast. Months and years surge and settle in the embrace.

 

-

 

Then they take minutes and hours when they can - in the car and on the island and at Asami’s office. She’s surprised at her surprise when all it takes each time to feel as before is a look, though Korra could spend every spare moment re-learning Asami if she needed to.

 

Asami is older, taller; Asami is brilliant still and successful. Asami holds her head higher.

 

Asami is warmer, lovelier, sweeter than ever. Asami is hard at work, soft in her reassurances and pretty laughter.

 

Asami is alone, mostly.

 

-

 

There’s an apology or a confession or something swimming inside of Korra that her heart is clasping too hard at for her head to give shape to right now. She doesn’t know when the right time will be, if there even will be one; she doesn’t know the right time for _what_ really, but she knows it isn’t now.

 

-

 

Asami doesn’t receive more than _please be careful, that thing is more agile than it looks - please get out if it gets bad, don’t take any gambles - okay? Asami. Be careful -_ and a squeeze of her hand that fails to say as much it wants to before she climbs into the hummingbird suit and Korra rushes out without a backward glance, because it’s not the right time.

 

Korra wins and Asami is torn asunder one last time.

 

-

 

They leave the shattered city behind them, all together, and eat a hastily concocted meal at Air Temple Island, each rendered silent by relief and fatigue. Korra doesn’t let go of Asami’s hand under the table.

 

“Are you going to sleep?” she says later in her room, and it’s an echo of a moment they’ve shared many times before, except this time it’s not Korra letting a shake of her head answer _I don’t know if I can sleep_. Asami continues standing at the window facing north towards the mainland.

 

“We should rest,” Korra says anyway, drawing Asami’s gaze away from the broken skyline, the wreckage of her home and her heart. (There are no city lights.)

 

Asami comes and sits on the bed. She reaches for a blanket to unfold, on a sigh so sad it makes Korra’s heart ache. Korra slides forward and takes it out of her hands, wrapping her own around Asami’s shoulders to pull her forward so they’re holding each other, properly hugging, for the first time.

 

Asami feels tiny in her arms (what a strange feeling); she’s clinging for life and Korra returns the tightness of her embrace. She knows that she won’t let go until Asami does, and she’s acutely aware that there could easily have been no chance of this after today’s events. The wave of relief that sweeps over her is so strong that Korra’s blinking back tears.

 

“I’m so so glad you’re okay,” she breathes out. Asami presses tighter against her in response, and Korra knows that if maybe in her grief she can’t find the words, Asami’s returning the sentiment. “You’ll be okay,” she adds. Asami’s hand finds the line of her jaw in reply.

 

She lets Asami cry, and then heals a few of her cuts and scrapes with cool fingers, more to soothe her mind than her body. It gets late but Korra doesn’t fall asleep until Asami does.

 

-

 

A week and then another passes without _when’s the right time?_ hanging in her head because Korra’s decided that there’s no such thing as a right time, or at least that it doesn’t matter if there’s never one, because it’s every moment that she can give now, every word and gesture that will help put Asami’s pieces back together, just as Asami gave her before.

 

Besides, there’s a city to rebuild, and her parents are here, and there’s a wedding in the works.

 

-

 

The music of waves lapping on the bay beyond is soft and clear. Its rhythm, together with the slight breeze buffeting her dress, makes the buzz in Korra abate into an easy effervescence that sparkles in the tips of her fingers when they brush against Asami’s next to her.

 

The thought of slipping quiet away from a wedding with Asami is one worth revelling in. Well, they’d probably have done that anyway, but they’re going to leave together _alone_ , leave and go away together, tonight, the two of them. (It’s the right time, and Korra had known it almost the very moment Asami admitted that she could use a break.)

 

They could do it right now, but the moment is so calm Korra wants to sit here a little while longer. Asami is watching the strange new light dance on the water, transfixed. The yellow-washed cityscape reflects in her eyes.

 

Korra wants to see them light up again, the way they had when she had said _let’s do it!_ , like _she_ was giving Asami something, like it wasn’t everything Korra wanted anyway.

 

And, she wants to hold her hand.

 

A step above, far on Asami’s other side, Naga gives a low, listless whine. It breaks Asami gently out of her reverie, and Korra watches as she glances to her side and then back Korra’s way.

 

“It’s so nice out here,” she enthuses softly when she meets Korra’s gaze. The smile she gives is small but it makes her green eyes glow. “And you look so _lovely_ , Korra. I know I said it before...” And then she continues to hold her gaze, eyes so wonderfully affectionate as she pulls the mass of her hair over one shoulder to feel the breeze on her skin.

 

Korra doesn’t know if it’s something about the action, or Asami’s fixed stare, or even a trick of the lantern light behind them on her gold jewelry, but she feels as though she’s wrapped in the warmest, most peaceful embrace, all without a single point of contact between them. _I’m_ _just_ _so_ _happy_ _you’re_ _here_ _now,_  she hears again in her head, again in the tone that seizes her heart hard. 

 

"Mm, I heard you before,” she replies. She knows she might be blushing, because her thoughts are still somewhere else: _I never want to be without you again._

 

Asami laughs, and her eyes do it - they light up like before, and this second time it’s like a pull to the invisible thread joining them, and Korra slides her fingers under Asami’s on the cold stone between them.

 

“You, too, by the way. You look stunning.” _I’m happy_ you’re _with me, too._

 

Just another squeeze of her hand, and: because she’s had more than enough time to know she means it, know _how_ she means it; _I love you._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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